


Find Me Somebody to Love

by lilsmartass



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: M/M, Mirror Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-18
Updated: 2012-09-18
Packaged: 2017-11-14 13:02:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/515506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilsmartass/pseuds/lilsmartass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the mirror universe where sex is a weapon t establish power and dominance, Kirk wants to try something kinky. Written for my vanilla sex square of Kink Bingo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Find Me Somebody to Love

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All belongs to Gene Roddenbury and the Paramount people. The title comes from a song by Queen.  
> Warning/Spoilers: Graphic sexual content, profanity, implied mirror universe f@*ked-up-ness  
> Pairing: Kirk/Spock   
> Genre: PWP, kink, established relationship, mirror universe

** Find Me Somebody to Love **

 

“I want to try something new tonight,” says Kirk curtly, untying his sash and unwinding it methodically. He doesn’t look at his first officer as he places his dagger with deliberate precision on the desk in the alcove he uses as an office.

Spock raises an intrigued eyebrow, wondering what his inventive lover has come up with for tonight. In mimicry of his captain he places his own dagger with careful precision on the chair where he will fold his uniform when they undress. Usually, the act of coitus is a show of force, of domination and subjugation, but he and Kirk had decided a long time ago that neither could afford to be seen so weak or vulnerable, and that neither wished to devote the time or energy to the consistent show of force required to either maintain a steady lover or dominate a new warm body every night. Their alliance resembled the arranged marriages of Spock’s homeworld more than it did the sexual relations of any other of the _Enterprise’s_ crew; and it is in deference to this painstakingly maintained equality (dominance for the evening determined by a role of a dice, agreed rules on what level of pain is acceptable, pains taken not to shame the other even when luck had decreed that they must be the receiver) decrees that if Kirk has chosen to disarm himself, Spock must do likewise. Not that either of them are truly disarmed, but, as humans said, it is the thought that counts. “You have won the right to choose,” Spock acknowledges simply, with a tilt of his head.

Kirk does not respond to the invitation to explain, instead he turns to the small cabinet Spock knows contains liquor and pours himself a generous, but far from incapacitating measure of brandy and a purple substance for Spock. “It’s Elysian wine,” he says, proffering the glass, “You expressed an enjoyment for it when we ferried the Elysian Marshal.”

Spock takes the glass, dark eyes not leaving Kirk’s face. The beverage looks and smells the same as he remembers, and Spock knows Kirk has nothing to gain from poisoning him, but the Captain is known for his capricious acts. He raises the glass to his lips and touches the liquid to them but does not sip. One does not make the rank of Commander in Starfleet if one is not cautious. Kirk does not look offended, instead he smiles, appreciating his first officer’s vigilance which has saved them both numerous times. “Run a tricorder over it if it makes you happy,” he says, waving a hand. “It cost enough; you may as well enjoy it.”

Once more Spock regards him thoughtfully. It would have been the height of bad manners to verify the safety of wine offered by his Captain without his permission, the fact that Kirk has freely offered it merely cements the suggestion that it is safe to drink. Still, Kirk is devious and may have counted on just such a reaction. Spock fetches his tricorder and runs a full scan. It beeps, satisfied that the wine is safe for consumption. There are poisons undetectable to a standard tricorder, but Spock has made upgrades to his and he knows of nothing impenetrable to his sensors. “Thank you Captain,” he says, and takes a real swallow. The liquid is as sweet and fiery as he remembers.

The pair stand and drink for a moment in comfortable silence, each content to enjoy the warmth of the not-quite-Vulcan-warm cabin, and the peace the end of a busy shift brings. When Kirk’s glass is empty he sets it down beside his dagger and toes off his boots. Barefooted and weaponless, he looks peculiarly vulnerable, even though Spock knows for a fact that he is not. He walks with the sinuous predatory grace of a cat towards the Vulcan who swallows the last of the purple wine and sets his own glass down with a nod of thanks. “What is it you wish tonight?” he asks as Kirk stops in front of him.

Kirk places a cool human hand on each side of his waist, fingers gripping his hip bones, but not tightly enough to bruise. Their rules stated no physical marks where they could be seen by the lower decks, but usually Kirk takes great pleasure in marking his hips. He leans up to kiss Spock, who obligingly opens his mouth. The kiss is slow and sweet and deep and employs none of the dominance tricks Kirk usually uses to control a human kiss. Spock can feel his intrigue rising as the Captain, his hands never leaving Spock’s hips, walks him back to the bed. “Just lie back,” Kirk says in a husky voice.

Trustingly Spock does so, though he starts slightly as he feels Kirk beginning to remove his boots. It is a peculiarly submissive act for the Captain of the _Enterprise_. Kirk divests Spock of his uniform pants and himself of his own shirt, before pulling the Vulcan up and stripping his shirt too. When they are both naked and spread out on the bed, Kirk begins to kiss him once again in the human fashion. His tongue dances lightly inside Spock’s mouth as though eager for the taste of him. Usually, Spock finds human kissing to be slightly unsanitary, but this gentle assault he cannot help but respond to. He tangles his fingers in Kirk’s honey blond hair, his own tongue seeking out the Captain’s taste. When Kirk pulls back he is panting slightly. He gives Spock a slight, lopsided smile and then dips his head, trailing his lips down Spock’s vulnerable throat and then beginning to explore the rest of Spock’s body with his tongue. He licks his way down the Vulcan’s ribs with light swipes, stopping to torment his naval for a long moment and then teases at the inside of his thighs, fingers lightly brushing his cock. Surprisingly, despite the lack of direct stimulation Spock is hard, erection straining as it turns a deep, blood green. Kirk lays a light kiss on the head, and strokes a gentle finger along his perineum.

The gentleness is unsettling Spock, he wants to grab Kirk hard enough to bruise and fuck into him, rough and burning and brutal. But strange as this is, _wrong_ as this is, he wants it more. He lays still, a deep, wanton groan slipping from his lips and bringing a blush to his cheeks as Kirk’s tongue leaves his cock and goes to work on his fingers. Spock forces his eyes open, _when did he close them?_ and looks up. Kirk is straddling his thighs, one hand stroking gentle circles over his ribs and sternum, the other holding his wrist while he sucks on his fingers. His eyes are soft and blown wide, his straining cock attests to his own arousal. “What are you doing?” Spock rasps out, shocked at the tone of his voice which is as far from his usual steady baritone as he has ever heard it.

Like a switch being flicked, the aroused, desiring expression disappears from Kirk’s eyes, he lets Spock’s wrist drop and his second hand stills. Curiously it is the soothing, stroking touches which Spock misses the most. “I’m sorry Spock,” he says, his own voice very nearly as raspy as Spock’s. He straightens his shoulders, visibly composing himself, hiding obvious embarrassment behind his usual mask of command. Spock grips his hips to keep him in place, but not hard as hard as he wishes to, once more mimicking his Captain as he copies the gentleness with which he had been treated. “What are you doing?” he repeats.

Kirk flushes lightly, and looks away. “Nothing,” he says, “Sam showed me a kinky porno once where they did this and I always wanted to try it, but it’s dangerous so I...”

“You have only ever trusted me enough,” Spock finishes. Kirk flushes darker, trust is such a dirty word: it is too subjective, all one can truly rely on is alliances built on mutual advantage or sheer strength of arms. But Spock knows exactly of what Kirk speaks, it is an unnamed and unnameable desire that has sprung up since melding with the otherworld doctor and that no amount of meditation has purged. “You may continue,” he says after another beat of awkward silence. “I have no reason to hold yet another sexual deviance against you.” He allows the smallest glint of humour into his eyes and voice and is rewarded by an answering soft smile, the blush fading from Kirk’s face and a wet human mouth fastening itself over his left nipple with a moan of desire.

Kirk sucks and laves at his nipple for a whole minute, not using his teeth at all but for the lightest of grazes, when he pulls off his lips are shiny and swollen. He takes hold of the erect nub of flesh and rolls it gently between his thumb and forefinger. Then, with a wicked grin at the gasp he has elicited, he leans down to repeat the procedure on the second nipple. Once finished, he stretches out beside Spock, one leg thrown over Spock’s knees so their bodies are flush against one another. Spock can feel Kirk’s own weeping erection pushing hard and hot against his hip. When Kirk presses a hard, dry kiss to the sensitive area below his ear he whines, high like an injured le-mayta. When Kirk takes his earlobe into his mouth and sucks, he can’t help himself any longer. “Kirk,” he says voice gravelly and low, “I am ready.” He takes advantage of his unusually unbound body to twist himself to face Kirk, pulling the human snug against him so their cocks are rubbing together.

“Jim,” Kirk whispers, the non-sequiter stunning Spock into silence, “Call me Jim.”

The words send another bolt of arousal thrumming through him and he groans again, deep in his chest. “Jim, _please_ ,” it is a word he has never before surrendered in the bedroom, knowing the ceding of control it implies.

Kirk – Jim does not seem to notice. There is no grin of victory, nor cruel bite delivered as proof of ownership to a conquered foe, only a low needy whine of his own that comes at the raw sound of his name. “Prepare me,” he hisses.

Too far gone to immediately grasp for the tenants of Surak as a calming method, Spock is forced to use his own hand to grip the base of his own penis just to keep himself from cumming. _Where had Kirk – Jim, learned to talk so_ dirty _?_ The willing surrender is more arousing that Kirk’s skilled mouth had been and Spock cannot stop his hands from shaking as he uncaps the lube on the nightstand. He has never had the benefit of a porno shown to him by an older brother, but he follows the base part of his mind he calls instinct and lets it guide him to slide just one lube sodden finger inside Jim’s tight channel. He forces himself to set a steady, gentle pace as he eases the finger in and out, waiting until Jim is tilting his hips, begging silently for more, before he slides a second finger in.

The velvety heat is exquisite, and this time Spock is unable to wait as long before adding a third finger. He twists and scissors his fingers, enjoying both the sensation and the noises his actions are ripping out of Jim. He presses his fingers a little deeper, actively seeking. When he finds the raised nub, he deliberately brushes over it and Jim arcs off the bed. “Oh God, oh God, yes there, Spock there,” he babbles, almost incoherent with need, only the gentle hand Spock has on the small of his back holding him in place.

“Jim,” Spock murmurs, “ _My_ Jim,” he adds, feeling very daring. He is rewarded by another low whimper of need of the squirming body under him and, knowing neither of them can wait much longer he douses his cock with yet more lube. “Roll over,” he whispers, “I wish to see your face when I-”

“When you make love to me,” Jim responds, complying unthinkingly, wrapping his legs around Spock’s slender waist to pull him closer. Spock groans again, enjoying the filth pouring out of the human’s mouth almost more than the sounds of pleasure. He pushes in in one slow smooth motion, the near frictionless glide still torture on his too ready cock.

“I will not last long,” he admits, shamefacedly.

“Doesn’t- doesn’t matter,” Jim gasps, “I’m almost there myself.”

Spock begins to move, a gentle thrusting of his hips, keeping a firm grip on Jim’s own to hold him in place. Jim’s golden eyes flutter shut, a blush is tingeing his face once again, but this is desire and arousal, he is too far gone to feel shame. “Oh Spock, Spock,” he moans. Spock changes the angle of his thrusts slightly until each stroke is brushing over the nub he had found. Jim screams. He twists, screwing his hips down onto Spock’s groin as though seeking to take even more of the Vulcan into himself. His hips stuttered slightly and he began to cum in thick, spurting jets. “Spock,” he breathes, one hand untwisting from the blankets where it had clenched and covering Spock’s on his hip.

The sensation of Jim’s fingers entwining with his own breaks Spock and he begins to cum too, his strokes helplessly speeding up and becoming harder, more desperate. When his orgasm has abated, and he pulls out, Jim pulls him down onto the bed beside him. The erotic thrill of being wrapped in a lover’s arms, content and sated, and trusting enough to sleep beside another, is almost enough to ready him again. He begins mentally calculating complex strings of mathematics as Jim burrows into his arms, cock flaccid and still sticky from its own relief. The human laughs softly, and then moans and wriggles into the touch as Spock unthinkingly pets his hair. “What is it Captain?” Spock asks softly.

Jim smiles, relieved that Spock understands that this is just sex and that nothing between them has changed. “I always knew I was a fucked up bastard,” he answers, “but who knew you’d be such a kinky lay.”

  


End file.
